


Goner

by DigitalGhost



Series: steven's recovery? i know her [2]
Category: Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Depression, Feels, Gen, Mental Health Issues, Mental Illness, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Somewhat detailed scenes of self-injury/self-harm, Steven Gets Help, Steven Goes To Therapy, Steven needs a hug, Suicide Attempt, Therapy, self-injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:22:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 3,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23466088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DigitalGhost/pseuds/DigitalGhost
Summary: "Steven, I know you've gone a long ways since you started appointments, but if you don't mind... I have some questions about your self-injury history."
Relationships: Steven/Angst
Series: steven's recovery? i know her [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1688092
Comments: 22
Kudos: 172





	1. don't let me be gone

**Author's Note:**

> im back from the dead, and as an undead im still not over that SUF finale

Steven walked into the office that day, every part of him tense- nerves still jittery, arms and torso still stinging, fingers playing with the tool in his jacket pocket. Fingers that itched to rip it out of his pocket, unsheathe the small but useful blade, and etch more punishments where they belonged. Onto him.

It was because of this urging, though, that Steven had brought the knife with him today. The summer months were approaching-It'd be hot and humid, definitely not jacket weather. He'd have to let the sun shine down on his secrets some day, and he knew he couldn't do it on his own.

Maurice smiled at him when he walked in, and Steven managed a little half-grimace in return. He chided himself, Maurice deserved a real smile! He sighed quietly as he sat down in the regular chair, the one facing the wall with the window. Steven genuinely liked Dr. Ryner, it's just…

"Good afternoon, Steven. How have you been?" Maurice asked with an easy smile.

Steven shrugged, looking at the wall. "Not really the best, but not the worst."

The practiced doctor smiled. "That's good."

There was silence for a few moments before Maurice spoke again. "Anything on your mind at all?"

"Well…" Steven breathed in and out for a few seconds, gathering his courage. "There is something."

Maurice smiled patiently as Steven reached into his pocket. The smile faded, though, when he saw what was in Steven's hand.

"Can… Can you please take this knife, and keep it far away from me? Please?"

The older man still seemed a little shocked as he took the tool away from Steven. "Of course."

There was silence, interrupted only by the sound of drawers opening and closing while Steven's well-used weapon found a new home, far away from where he could use it. "I just… I think I need to stop getting after myself for messing up."

He could feel Dr. Ryner's eyes on him as he forced himself to keep his own gaze on the wall. He couldn't, he couldn't look at him, he just  _ couldn't- _ "..When did you start wearing that jacket again?"

Steven swallowed, his nerves shot with anxiety that he didn't think his meds would be able to fix. "When I started using the knife."

*

_ Please check any of the following that best describe why you self-injure. _

_ I hurt myself because… _

_ ✓-it is the one thing in my life I can control. _

_ ✓-it keeps me from feeling numb and dead inside. _

_ ✓-it is better than thinking about all the bad memories I have. _

_ ✓-I deserve to be punished. _

_ ✓-it makes me feel things that I can't put into words. _

  
Steven, you checked all of them. Are you okay?


	2. though i'm weak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please answer the following questions as honestly as you can.  
> Question 1: When did you first begin harming yourself?

at first it wasn't on purpose. it just happened.

a slip up cutting vegetables. tripping on a full sprint. bruises from training and practice.

an innocent little scar on his finger- faint white and already healing. scabbed, rough skin on his knee, aching from the cement. blue and black dots on his arms, sensitive to the touch of finger and mind.

it wasn't enough.

not so guilty scars on his arms, from the same knife but not the same purpose. bruises on his knuckles, from angry outbursts at the wall.

there were scars to hide. he put on a jacket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: AndrothePotato requested on the last work, i might have a few problems, about a sequel story where we see when Steven started self-harming. Once I started brainstorming though, I found that self-harm is a very personal thing to me, and to write the origins and specific feelings related to it would be very emotionally difficult, given my personal experience with it. So apologies to anyone who wanted a in-depth sequence of Steven doing self-injury. i hope this was/will be fulfilling nonetheless :)


	3. and beaten down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please answer the following questions as honestly as you can.  
> Question 2: What methods do you use to harm yourself?

the kitchen knife, buried deep in his nightstand, was forever tainted with his blood, whether it was washed or not. he'd seen his own blood, both dark and bright red at the same time, so many times there was a sort of numbness to it now.

the wall was always there- pushing in at him, suffocating, letting his head be pounded against its surface. his nails could scratch, his fingers could pinch, his shield could be thrown.

hits and bruises dotted his skin like a decoration- sickly, twisted ornaments from punishments that he always deserved.

he still preferred the scars.


	4. i'll slip away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please answer the following questions as honestly as you can.  
> Question 3: How often do you cut or injure yourself?

there was a time when the scars could fully heal and be nothing but memories before they were replaced.

not anymore.

now the scars of last week were joined with those of today; yesterday's anxiety attack got cozy next to the breakdown from two weeks ago; if his skin didn't feel raw and cut open before bed he couldn't get to sleep.

a pocket knife made its new home in his jeans pocket; just in case he couldn't get to his knife at home. he used it more often than even he was willing to admit.

_ what's wrong with me? _


	5. into the sound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please answer the following questions as honestly as you can.  
> Question 4: What feelings and thoughts do you have before, during, and after self-injury?

he knew it was wrong. he knew he was crazy. he knew by now it was an addiction.

he knew he couldn't stop himself from swiping the blade across skin. every scar he left, every drop of blood that fell, he saw it and wanted more. he deserved more.

other times he couldn't bring himself to it, because he deserved even more pain than some stupid, bloody scars along his body. he didn't deserve the room he hid in, the clothes that covered the scars, the family that he lied to.

sometimes he couldn't do it. and he hated it.


	6. the ghost of you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please answer the following questions as honestly as you can.  
> Question 5: What seems to trigger your self-injury?

"thanks for the help, but i'm good."

"i think we're okay without your help. thanks though."

"so steven, what're your plans for the future?"

everyone grows. he grew out of his old shirts. amethyst grew into herself. pearl grew into her own person. garnet grew into strength.

everyone grows, he knows that! he knows that people change everyday, that they learn from their mistakes, that you're never the same person you once were. it's a little confusing, but also quite simple. people can and will definitely grow.

so why does everyone grow out of his life, and away from him?


	7. is close to me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please answer the following questions as honestly as you can.  
> Question 6: What makes you feel better?

( _ failure pitiful worthless) _

he staggered upstairs, mind reaching into his nightstand drawer. his hand wrapped around the familiar handle, rolled up his sleeve. the blade touched his skin, drawing the first line. it overlapped old scars, his arms a intricate pattern of pain. he readied himself for more-

a buzz.

connie was calling him.

he moved his eyes toward the screen, seeing through unfogged eyes what he'd been doing.

how messed up was he?

he took the call, taking a breath. her voice, her warm eyes and sweet smile, made him put the knife away.

with connie, it'd be okay.


	8. i'm inside out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please answer the following questions as honestly as you can.  
> Question 7: Do you have social networks and relationships?

he didn't used to think it was possible to be scared of people's eyes. but the jumps of his heart every few minutes speak otherwise.

he fears those eyes that could look closer beneath his sleeves at any moment, that could possibly see the red traces of pain curling just under the collar of his shirt.

everytime someone says his name- whether it be at home or in town- his heart races with millions of possible scenarios where his scars finally see sunlight and his own eyes finally see the disappointment they've been expecting and waiting for.

he's disappointed too.


	9. you're underneath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please answer the following questions as honestly as you can.  
> Question 8: What emotional issues are you facing?

"isn't it just a fun time? i mean, i've gotten to explore super cool gem capabilities, make friends with gems who've lived for thousands of years, through wars and battles that they've told me all about! lucky i got to help them through their issues though, otherwise they probably wouldn't be friends with me! i mean, why else would they talk to me? oh, and the legacy that my mom left for me, and all the terrible things she did… like mother, like son, am i right?? ehehe.. and let's not forget about those Diamonds!..."

"...optimism won't fix everything, steven."


	10. don't let me be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please answer the following questions as honestly as you can.  
> Question 9: How do you feel about your future?

he used to be a tree. strong, standing tall through the wind and storms, providing shade and comfort, leaves and solace for those passing by.

but now, everyone else has moved on. done with the branch's shade, they'd stood up and gone on with their journey. continued on the beaten path that was just within sight of his weary, beaten eyes. his deep, strong branches kept him rooted to the ground where he stood, watching everyone else keep going with their lives. onward- away from him and his withering branches.

the more everything changed, the more he stayed the same.


	11. i'm a goner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please answer the following questions as honestly as you can.  
> Question 10: Have you had previous treatment for self-injury?

_ is something wrong with me? _

he caressed the knife across his skin- creating swirls and arcs that could almost be beautiful, if one ignored the blood dripping down the edges. it was like a painting that had too much color concentrated somewhere, so any color could become the tears of the painter, disappointed in the imperfection of the tear. the painter would then simply throw away the painting, because instead of dealing with a mistake he could not fix, he'd rather just put the first to waste, and start over with a clean, drop-less slate.

and steven was not clean.


	12. somebody catch my breath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please answer the following questions as honestly as you can.  
> Question 11: Do you have suicidal thoughts when you're feeling down?

he remembered the time he was tired.

the time when he was tired of not smiling, of dreading the sun rising, of being so broken it hurt. the time when even terror-filled nights were better than the dreadful and pointless days.

he remembered being tired.

he remembered choking down the pills- the thick and heavy capsules that made  _ him _ feel thick and heavy. he remembered sliding down to the bathroom floor, vision blurry and blackening.

he remembered feeling relieved that he wouldn't have to deal with himself anymore.

the world disappeared.

  
  
  


*

*

  
  
  
  


he cried when he woke up in the hospital.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whew, what an adventure! anyway, the last chapter of this will be sort of a bonus content chapter, with all the different drafts and idea I'd written out when faced with the prospect of this story :o hope you enjoyed this!  
> Edit: in case it was hard to tell, Steven was trying to kill himself by overdose , but ended up surviving and at the hospital- sorry for any confusion!


	13. bonus features: deleted scenes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> just different ideas I experimented with before finding what became the actual basis of this story :o

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some of these are obviously unfinished ideas, so don't be confused if the snippet you're reading abruptly cuts off and ends there :p

It was kind of… always there.

He hadn't always felt it. It had been buried deep down within him for most of his life, refusing to surface during the sweet innocence that is childhood. Pure thoughts of cookie cats and Dogcopter movies pushing away tainted thoughts of pain and punishment.

Thoughts of hatred and self-justice.

Of not being good enough. Giving himself what he deserved.

Snatching a knife from the kitchen. Running it softly across his skin, seeing the faint white lines appear like pencil marks. Drawing pictures of what he knew the gems  _ really _ thought about him- disappointing, regretful, burdensome.

Enjoying the feeling of justice, of seeing the physical lines of punishment decorating his skin like a tic-tac-toe game. Even when he was hurt by other gems or people, and he'd savor the pain, seeing visible marks with his own eyes (and feeling the pain of them with his own nerves) was worlds better.

Even if they were all healed by morning, it still wasn't near what he deserved.

So, more pressure was applied. More white lines were drawn, now more deliberate and purposeful, some even running red.

Red as his vision when he thought about how much he'd failed everyone.

*

The first few times he did it, he was very careful.

It had been going on for so long, though he couldn't even remember how it started. He knew little things, however.

He knew he'd heard about people who did it online, who struggled with liking and accepting themselves. He liked every one of their posts that he saw.

He knew whenever he was hurt in battle or training, or even by accident, he began to relish it. He wondered what it'd be like to be in control of the pain.

He knew how he felt he didn't dodge an attack, or when he hit his head against the wall mindlessly. He knew how he felt when he touched blade to skin for the first time. And the second. And the third. And the fourth.

He knew he deserved the scars along his forearm, the short and scattered ones that he could excuse as cat scratches.

He knew he smiled when trails of red appeared over pale skin, even as they traveled across his body. Up both his arms, across his chest, decorating his stomach, even edged onto his legs. If he were lucky, the red would gather excessively and drip down his limbs, tainting his otherwise pure skin.

Of course he'd dry off the blood and heal the scars by morning, but sometimes if the sars could be hidden easily, he'd keep them, to remind himself as to why he deserved those scars.

Why he deserves to be punished.

Why he shouldn't have the relationships he's already losing.

Why, no matter what he does or who he helps, he can never be good enough.

*

Sometimes, the galaxy just is the way it is, has been, and always will be.

Gems live forever.

Connie is smarter than him.

And Steven Universe can't sleep.

It should be a simple task, really. Too many times lately he's thought back when to when Amethyst and Pearl had joined him for a little 'slumber party' in the midst of their underwater searches for Malachite. Really, they're the words of an innocent child, pretty much a different person at this point, but sound advice all the same.

_ Lie down, get comfortable.  _ After tossing and turning endlessly, yes. He was comfortable _. _

_ Close your eyes. _ Yeah. What with the fact that he couldn't see anything, not even the soft glow of the moon through his glass door, his eyes were definitely closed.

_ And don't think about anything. _

See, when there's everything on the Earth and beyond to think about, it all jumped around his head like wild, frenzied children on trampolines. Bouncing from one end of his brain to another, not even letting his conscious finish processing one thought before another demanded attention. Everything that came to mind, it all bounced around inside his head, putting his nerves on edge. His breaths became shorter and more frantic, his hands couldn't stop clutching at his blanket and his pants and himself, and he wanted nothing more than to just disappear in the blissful nothingness that is sleep.

Maybe a thousand times each night, he'd remind himself of the words that had soothed both his and Connie's troubles a lifetime ago.

Here comes a thought, alright. Billions of billions of them, alarming him so much he was actually growing used to the siren blaring in his head, taking away his focus. But it left just enough focus behind for him to not be able to fall asleep.

Waiting eternities to fall asleep was just becoming part of the routine in the life of Steven Universe, it seemed.

He stretched out his body, restless after staying motionless for so long. His body turned to an angle across the bed, laying across the short side instead of the long one. Steven let his head hang upside down, looking at his subverted world through tired eyes. Half-awake and delirious as he was, Steven only noticed he was slipping off his bed when his head was already mere inches from the floor. Flailing limbs slid against the bed post on their way down, and receiving minor scratches from the cold metal that held up the mattress.

"Ow…" Steven mumbled to himself on the floor, untangling his body from the heap it had become. He sat up, slowly noticing a faint stinging on his forearm.

His bed post, holding his mattress up above the floor, had grinded against his arm and formed a small cut there. It was maybe an inch or two long, blood appearing along the scar. 

*

"yeah, uh… yeah." he mumbled, reality setting into his apprehensive bones.

they were doing just fine without him. they had plenty of other, better places to get help if they needed it. which, the odds were, they wouldn't.

all he ever wanted to do was help people-help them, watch them grow and love, evolve into a better person than before. he'd done it so much over the course of his life, it wasn't even that hard to heal (literally or metaphorically) anymore.

but yet, he couldn't do it now.

they'd all grown and evolved away from him-him, steven, the friend that would always be there for anybody. he would always be here, waiting for others, waiting for the opportunity to be a friend- but he couldn't even do  _ that  _ right-

he stumbled home ( _ failure) _ , managing maybe a quick, stuttered greeting to any who saw him ( _ worthless _ ). thankfully, it wasn't many ( _ stupid _ ), and those he did run into didn't seem to find anything about him to look twice at ( _ idiot _ ). he entered the empty house, tripped up the stairs, and cried.

( _ a mistake _ )

tears slid down his (stupid) cheeks, so hot and fast he could feel the hatred inside them. or maybe that was just him.

( _ wrong) _

what had been held back, hidden deep inside him for so long was now flooding through him. the tears seared his eyes, made him want to claw away at himself to get them to stop, but they poured on, so resentful and angry and unlike the healing tears he could normally shed.

( _ can't do anything right _ )

these definitely weren't like those tears-those brought love and healing, but all he was getting now was more pain and hatred. it sickened him that such a thing could ever come from himself, but honestly he wasn't even surprised.

( _ no one wants me _ )

he wanted the pain to stop he wanted to pain to go on. he brought his fist up, ready to punch the wall.

( _ pitiful _ )

the smallest bit of logic inside him spoke up- at this state, he'd probably end up punching  _ through _ the wall, and explaining  _ that _ to the Gems would not go well no matter what he told them. looking up at his lonely blade poster, he got an idea, and went downstairs to retrieve a tool.

his nerves were on edge as he crept across the hardwood floor. his eyes were unfocused as they scanned for unfamiliar movement, his ears searching for the smallest breath, the barest hint of a presence. the others were all out of the house it seemed, as no interruptions were made as he opened the silverware drawer, and pulled out his chosen weapon of punishment. of justice.

a knife.

he made his way over to the stairs, not quite as tense as just moments ago. he put it in his pocket in case someone did walk in though, and he accidently pricked his finger with the blade as he did so. it was a microscopic pain, considering the burning tears that were slowing their flow down his face, but he took pleasure in it anyway. it was the least of what he deserved.

now at his bed, he looked at his arms. he didn't want to have to stomach looking at the rest of this monstrosity of a body, but sacrifices had to be made.

the arms were covered by pink sleeves, but those were quickly removed. he recoiled at the sight of the limbs previously hidden, but he forced himself to keep his gaze. perhaps he could decorate them, make them look a little better. maybe a few imperfections could be cut off in the process as well.

the blade struck. a faint, white line instantly forming on the disappointing skin. no blood appeared, not yet-that first swipe hadn't been deep enough for blood, but he wasn't too disappointed. he had all the time in the world to make this useless sack of flesh bleed.

he struck the arm again, this line neighboring the last scar, congruent but just below it. miniscule flecks of skin were pulled up by the blade, and near the end of the trail, a few, tiny dots of blood began to form.

good. the worthless life form doesn't deserve its life force, better just to get rid of it and make it die faster.

the metal dug into the flesh once more, this time at a more abstract angle, almost creating a woven-looking pattern. this time, the entirety of the mark, short and deep, brought up blood. he stared at the liquid, so bright and so dark. it contrasted greatly from the otherwise pale skin it bled onto.

putting knife to skin again and again, he punished the deserving sub-creature for its limitless shortcomings and flaws. useless. awful. unforgivable. hideous. the pale skin paled even more where scars appeared, most also decorated with shiny, rose-colored liquid. as if of their own mind, the scars crept upward on the creature's arm, becoming longer and deeper as they went. some of them even were dripping blood by now, running down the arms and staining the pants that he would dispose of later. other than the punishments themselves, no evidence could be left.

the blue starred cloth left the creature's body, and disgust rose to the top of his throat before he could force it down. staring at such a form was inconceivable, so his gaze averted to the wall while the scars snaked across the torso of the body.

the Scars edged upward, across his collar bone and to the bottom of his neck. the Scars crept down and around the creature's hideous waist, the blade now struggling to draw blood on top of the disgusting layers of fat on the creature. he had to touch the skin, hold it down to keep it from moving while the blade did its work. with that and a little extra pressure, blood dripped down the back and stomach.

the Scars crept directly downward to It, the pink shining surface mocking the rest of him with Its perfection. sure, none of the owners of this stone were perfect (particularly the current one), but the stone, the gem itself- flawless. perfect. blameless. everything he could never be.

the Scars appeared around It, surrounding the gemstone on all sides, but he didn't dare try to put blade to crystal. not only would it most likely break his tool, but the gem was perfect, had no reason to be punished. like a royal king exempt from the law, it was unharmed.

the rest of the creature's body… could hardly say the same.

now more furious and hateful than ever, the Scars quickly spread to the whole of the other arm, and everywhere on the legs from the round little ankles to the biggest, meatiest parts of the thighs. he hated it, he hated every single inch, and now it was getting what it deserved. pain, justice. punishment.

thin white and red lines drew nearly the entire outline of the creature, but still he wasn't done yet, still there was more story to tell.

'fat' was etched into the meaty upper thigh, and with the cross of the t, the letters ran red.

'failure' was written near the wrist of the left forearm, where it was always visible, and always known.

'a mistake' was carved on the lower right thigh, just above the knee, so when his head was hidden in his legs and his cheeks were wet with tears, he could see the nature of what he really was.

'useless' found a place on the stomach, seemingly upside down to others' eyes, but to his own tear-filled ones, it was the perfect example of coherency and truth.

*

There wasn't really a certain, specific event that started it all. It just kind of… happened over time, intensifying slowly until it had taken over his life. Worrying about hiding the scars, even from those closest to him; finding every little thing he did needing justice and punishment, finding the pain almost addicting; keeping the weapon on or near his person at all times, in order to feel something vaguely resembling safety and comfort.

But of course, it didn't start with all that.


End file.
